


Who Gave You The Right? (Surely Not I)

by trickstartmonk



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-03 21:13:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16333574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trickstartmonk/pseuds/trickstartmonk
Summary: Patrick could potentially die right here, clenching his teeth and holding a gun to his chest, crammed in a dumpster outside of Denny’s.





	Who Gave You The Right? (Surely Not I)

Monsters aren’t real. Not like the ones from that Pixar movie, anyway. There are the bad people kind of monsters, you know. The figurative kind. Murderers and stuff, pedophiles and the likes. But monsters aren’t real. Or they shouldn’t be, at least. But Patrick’s come to learn all types of shit he once never would’ve believed. 

Right now there’s a mutant-thing playing hide and seek with Patrick. It’s not fun or cute, just a lot scary and dangerous. Patrick could potentially die right here, clenching his teeth and holding a gun to his chest, crammed in a dumpster outside of Denny’s. Patrick could die a little in love, a lot regretful, and with only his thoughts to keep him company

It’s times like this he wonders how he got here. Why he’s doing this. And the only thing that he can decide on, the only reason is Pete. Fucking Pete.

 

………..  
...Two years ago...

He sits farthest from the door and pressed as close to the glass as he respectively can. Earbuds in his ear and cranked up into oblivion. He’s here and not happy about it. College is bullshit. Patrick's tired of this. School, his friends, that asshole from this weekend. 

People suck. And he's not even that upset about that jackass from the party, (not even a note? Seriously?) but it certainly adds to the overwhelming feeling that's been creeping up on him. And! And this paper, this garbage assignment, this absolute crap is due. Tomorrow. Fuck. 

The plural of thesis is theses. Music is wonderful and lovely but this paper is not, and taking this music theory class has been nothing but a pain. (He knows all this stuff, alright? Its commonplace and he knows it. Writing several papers every week is more tiring than comprehensive. Patrick is tired, alright?) He can't help the exhaustion threatening his body or the headache from yesterday that never went away. Words are nonsense and he's got this headache. This paper is killing him. God, one deep breath, two breaths, three, fourfivesixseveneightnineten. Who cares about the differences in military musical styles in the 1700's? Not Patrick, definitely not Patrick.

He's just about done with his third cup of coffee, black, when someone taps on his shoulder. Jesus Christ, what.

And its. Well, it’s this guy.

It’s nothing but just, God. He’s nice to look at. (A sight for sore eyes, as his grandma would say.) And, uh. Yeah. His mouth is doing this quirk thing and Patrick thought dimples were awesome but this guy’s got like, cheek crinkles. And when he talks his eyes sparkle a bit and, wait. Talk. Talk. Talk, this dude’s been talking, oh fuck. Patrick reaches for his earbuds and yanks them out.

He’s expecting the dude to angrily walk away or glare at Patrick, or something, but his smile doesn’t even falter. (If anything the guy looks amused when Patrick furiously apologizes. But whatever, screw wishful thinking.) He’s still watching Patrick with this 1000watt grin and Patrick’s this close to blushing or flirting or crying for god’s sake. He’s flustered, okay? 

The guy’s name is Pete. He offers his hand to shake (and wow, strong hands? Tattoos? Yes.) and asks for Patrick’s name.

“Patrick, I’m Patrick”, and fuck you, he only stutters a teensy tiny bit.

“P and P. You and me are an alliteration, ya know. That’s a good name, by the way. Patrick, Patrick, Pat, Patty, Trick, Tricky, Trickster.” and Pete, his name is Pete, rolls Patrick’s name around a bit in his mouth. Shapes it to fit and molds it a little how he likes. Patrick is fucking enamored.

He’s just about to say something when Pete does this thing. He looks straight into Patrick’s eyes, furrows his brow just a fraction, and says in a startlingly steady voice, 'You want to take me out back'. For a few seconds, Patrick can hear only those words, every other noise fades to nothing, and gets tunnel vision, only looking at Pete’s pretty, hazel eyes. But the trance, whatever the hell it was, breaks just as quick as it started.

“What? Why would I do that?”, Patrick asks breathlessly and Pete’s eyes widen a little before he smiles again. 

“Huh? Do what?”, and by the way Pete responds, it’s like. Like the guy’s hiding something more. And sure Patrick’s a bit suspect, but he drops it, because that’s be a really weird reason to turn away from such a beautiful guy. And seriously, Patrick is enamored.

Pete informs him that he initially came over because it's nearing closing time at the cafe and they were the only two people left. Patrick thinks its a little romantic, but whatever.

Pete asks if he wants to go on a walk with him. Patrick says ‘yeah’ and gets up to leave when Pete grabs his arm and motions back to the table cluttered with his college homework. Patrick is embarrassed and feels like an idiot but Pete smiles still like it's all a cute joke. Patrick most certainly does not blush. They walk out side by side and every two steps their fingertips brush. Patrick’s heart beats loudly in his throat, but he lets the quiet settle around them and feels good for once. The headache is gone and everything feels good. He just mete Pete and everything is awesome.

But things like that don’t last. He knows that now.

They walk for several minutes and the talking is minimal and so, so, comfortable. Patrick’s backpack strap is digging into his shoulder and he shifts it sometimes. Pete’s smiles are a little closed off but almost mysterious.

Pete goes in for the kiss near an alley. Thank god.

He leans in and Patrick mimics him, softly closing his eyes. He breathes in and out. And, well. Nothing happens and there’s no sweet press of lips. Patrick panics a little and opens his eyes. 

Pete is several feet away and he’s grinning and its wicked and Patrick is freaked. Pete opens his mouth and his lips are still curved when he bares his teeth. Patrick is worried. Pete licks his canines and holy fuck they’re sharp. Pete steps in and Patrick knows what’s going on, he read books and saw movies and what the fuck. This is some classic vampire shit. Patrick is kinda pissed.

He shoves Pete away with force and Pete looks confused. He steps back towards Patrick looking a bit more frustrated than menacing. Patrick punches him in the jaw, which, fuck, ow hurts. Pete rubs his jaw (barely even looking pained, what the hell) and frowns at Patrick.

“You’re immune to me”, he says.

“What, your awesome charm?” Patrick asks incredulously. Seriously, what is going on?

“Uh, kinda”, Pete supplies. Awesome! That’s not a vague answer or anything! Thanks!

“The hell do you mean?”, he questions. Why hasn’t he run for his life yet? 

“Vampires. We’ve got that trance thingy. Ya know?”, he says a little awkwardly while rubbing the back of his neck. “Its not, its supposed to. You’re. You’re not supposed to be aware. It, it kind of makes the blood thing easier. No pain and it feels like you’re...drunk, I guess.” He sounds, remorseful maybe, but Patrick doesn’t have time for this shit. This is crazy and monsters aren’t real. And even if they were, he really doesn't have time for this. He prepares his most commanding voice.

“I’m gonna run, and you’re gonna let me. This is, this is stupid and I’ve got a goddamn paper to work on.” 

Pete’s head snaps up and his eyes look sorry but Patrick doesn’t linger. He moves his backpack up his shoulder and takes off into a sprint back into town.

He gets home to his dorm and says hey to joe, writes 16 more paragraphs, eats a banana, and passes out on his stomach. There’s this vague sense of disappointment but he pushes it away. He doesn’t have time for weird encounters with the supernatural. He’s in college, for christ’s sake. He sleeps deeply to dreams of glowing pretty eyes and blood and lips. His roommate is gone when he wakes up.

It only occurs to him when he’s halfway to class that Pete didn’t kill him. Huh.  
………..  
...Now...

Monsters are real. The figurative kind, the supernatural kind, and the mutant-thing-chasing-Patrick-right-now kind. He holds his gun a little tighter (even though it hurts his fingers) and silently curses Pete. (Surely the Gods can hear curses from a cold Denny's dumpster).

So yeah. Monsters are real and it sucks when the guy you kinda sorta love is dead (but not really). Fucking Pete.

**Author's Note:**

> im new and this is my first ever fic! comments are awesome! thanks!!


End file.
